Fairest of Them All

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

Attention and flirting don't satisfy.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

Last week Justin pulled his hands through my hair.

He asked, if I'm free that night, to stop by.

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

Tod's smart; classics he hasn't read are rare.

He writes me sonnets that publishers buy.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

My ex bought me tops he thought I should wear.

In Juicy Couture, his trophy was I.

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

But He saw my heart, died to make life fair.

Betrayed with a kiss to suffer and die.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

Profess your love; pursue me, if you dare.

Death, not words nor touch, no one can deny.

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

Whitewashed Man

In fifth grade Ms. Larson never told me

That high school teachers grade easier. Somehow

She forgot that fact. We parroted our

Verses, platitudes, and skipped the 60s.

We learned the North was right; the Brits were vile.

Those Injuns— just look at their casinos.

White male Protestants are right. Jesus rose

On the third day. Evolution's a lie.

Now I know that Abe was honest and King

George the Third upped taxes unreasonably.

But the mystery lies not with bigotry.

She never mentioned the word "appealing."

Gaunt with uncombed hair, why should I turn heads?

"Loud mouth, bird legs, don't be a know-it-all."

Now, he that taught me Marvell and the Fall

Apparently gives A's to girls with bronzed legs.

You praise justice; Marlow you criticize.

"A facade he lived," you scoff, "What a fool."

While he imagines my body: "Babe, you'll

Make a great wife," say his wide hungry eyes.

Manhood

I promise it will be profound

Cliches you've never heard,

A poem, with meaning, rhymes, and sound

You'll weep— a loss for words.

Ne'er mind you read Milton or Donne,

Forget I'm but a boy,

My youthful foolishness is gone

'Tis crime to be so coy.

Brown eyes, fair breasts, full— Oh! Your heart

Stirs me to sing you praise.

I'd naught but brood if us fate parts

I'll have you all my days.

Read now my plea; think not of him,

Forgive my lack of form,

Compare, if you must; poor John grows dim

Since I can make you warm.

Give and Take

I am not high maintenance. You could take me

to a coffee shop, cheerful, sociable,

a hub of good conversation and hot drinks.

And maybe a blueberry scone to share.

We'd pass by two oversized cushioned chairs by

the happy fire but sip our rich chais.

Tell me more about that memoir, the one

about a secret book club in Iran?

Well, I can't believe Ana disliked Austen.

That reminds me— have you finished Persuasion?

Is it true TV caused a rise in crime?

What of the new health care reform bill that passed?

We'd disagree, to debate. No, you have

the last bit of scone. A walk downtown?

But we didn't bring cookies for the

ducks. Buy them all scones? You're too much.

(Not really.) Look, it's sprinkling. So we go.

Flood

A rushing fountain floods and burns my chest

Reminding me of what I felt and know.

‘Twas knowledge that corrupted what was best:

Eve ate, and Adam too. The curse was so

That we would see the cost of human pride.

The snake returned: I saw what would occur

Yet took a bite— so sweet, so pure! But I’d

A hundred times resist the seeming lure

If spotless mind and heart were still both whole,

If I had known that innocence was not

The mark of naïve child, but rather the goal

Of lovely and desired hearts, once bought

Regardless of their state, with precious blood.

Their grace is but a river; mine, a flood.

For My Beloved, from Abba

If the happiness you've found is true and

If his smiling face provides more joy than

All the inside jokes we shared when you, a

Helpless babe, a whining tot, a needy

Teen, would tolerate (you'd laugh, explain: that's

Daddy, my best friend; he mocks dumb boys who

Try to woo me)— Don't be sorry, for I—

I can't protect, provide, prevent in age.

I am old— he is young; he is strong. Soon

He will become a father, the head of

A family. I have sacrificed myself

For you, because you are my child, precious—

A lily among thorns, my only girl.

To love his bride, as Christ the church— his call.

Ignorance: Bigotry or Beauty?

"Ignorance of certain subjects is a great part of wisdom."

~Hugo De Groot, Dutch jurist and politician (1583-1645)

A conversation that I had with my aunt has stuck with me for some time. She was telling me about her first kiss: she was at a party when she was 16, and so tired of the derogatory label "sixteen and never been kissed" that she let a boy that she barely knew take that prized possession, that first step in the stages of physical intimacy. Although her experience was about 30 years ago, the catchphrase remains a truism in our culture. Innocence is not valued: gaining experience is. Celebrities are glorified for knowing how to kiss well. The same rings true for relationships: adults and peers encourage us youth to date in high school and beyond in order to obtain maximum relational experience, in preparation for marriage, they assure us. But does having a boyfriend now really benefit my future marriage? Do I need to learn the moves so that my husband will be impressed on the wedding night? Or will he be hurt that I have failed to wait for him, that I have given my heart and body to other men, ostensibly for his benefit of enjoyment? Wouldn't ignorance of this sacred experience in actuality be loving towards him and healthy for a relationship rooted in exclusivity?

Ignorance bears a negative connotation nowadays: an ignorant person is uneducated, arrogant, perhaps even bigoted. But is a person with knowledge of every subject and experience truly wise? In terms of neuroscience, ironically, knowledge of an experience like using methamphetamine effectively destroys brain cells, inhibiting future attempts to learn. In striving for knowledge of everything, we lose the innocence that is an integral part of wisdom.

Eve

In the beginning God created male and female.

And man was simple and practical; he had muscles and could open jars quite easily.

But woman was complex and beautiful; she had lovely locks of hair and could help a spotted butterfly spread its wings, or she would sing music while dancing through the forest, or she would sit by waterfalls stirring the clear water with her delicate hands or other times she would bring forth children and nourish them with milk from her breasts.

Why the Tree?

Why the choice of an apple tree? The tree itself is a symbol found throughout literature, most notably the Bible: the tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in Genesis bears the forbidden fruit that separates man from God, and the cross, fashioned from a tree, upon which Jesus was crucified ultimately reconciles mankind back to God. So the tree becomes an archetype, representing a bridge to knowledge, to truth, to freedom, to agape. I see my blogging in a similar fashion- bridging the chasm between my thoughts, as mundane or profound as they may be, and reality.

Furthermore, the tree is not an oak tree, not a willow tree, but an apple tree. Yes, there is some Freudian symbolism there, but ultimately what I intend to evoke is a sense of delight, beauty, and fertility produced by the tree. Apples are not only lovely to look at and touch, but they are delicious and nourishing. I hope that my posts do the same: that they both entertain and challenge the mind.